The Second Time Around
by Narya's Bane
Summary: A choice a second chance but will Faramir's low self esteem get in the way? A more fantastical way to unite the movie and book realities.
1. Another Chance

Warning: I don't know what this is going to do between the beginning and ending- the only two parts I know. Other than that, anything is fair game. And I mean ANYTHING, as you will see.  
  
Interior Summary: Faramir is given a chance to change the events of his life, creating any possible ending for the world of Middle Earth. Given the ability, he must go back in time to see what might have happened had other choices been made. Starting in movie-verse, but eventually going to end up in what most fans of the book will expect.  
  
Mandatory Disclaimer: Yeah, like I own this. Right. But honestly, I can't afford to be sued as I make no money off of this- or anything else, as it stands. Remember: it's called FANfiction for a good reason!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
It was a dream, or so Faramir thought. Just a bad dream he had that night. It began like all the others: he had to relive his failures, as they played one by one in his head. So many times he'd proven breakable, fragile. Idiotic? Well, less often, but still. . .  
  
The nightmares were different from what he used to have, yet still frightening. At least with the premonitions there was an action that could be taken, even if it were missed; these were simply repeats of the worst moments in his life, things he would never be able to do again. They were too numerous, too uncomfortably numerous, to recount them in full. Yet there they were for all to see if they could get into the head of Faramir, steward of Gondor.  
  
When he awoke, things were as usual. Eowyn lay next to him in bed, the children just down the hall. Quietly, so as not to disturb his wife, Faramir slid from the bed and stepped outside. Once there, he found some water and brushed it across his face- a movement which usually made everything clearer and less demanding. The cooler air of the night helped as well, less confined then that inside. Still, something about the series tonight was different. It refused to go away.  
  
Unwilling to return to bed, Faramir went to his study and lit a single candle. By its light, he began to read. Some elvish volume it was, telling of the older legends, but the contents proved of little consequence as his eyes still drooped and sleep finally came again, unbidden.  
  
But this time, the litany did not occur.  
  
Voices did.  
  
"Is he ready?"  
  
"Ready as he'll ever be."  
  
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"  
  
"Am I ever?"  
  
Faramir heard the voices and, too his amazement, saw himself in the dream. It was pure white, as though nothing was around, and looking at himself he noted he was younger- more himself than he'd been in many years. It was not the person he saw reflected, but the image he had of himself in his mind which was there. But of those he heard talking, there was not a sign. "Excuse me?" he called out. "Is there someone here?"  
  
The only answer was a few murmurings in a language he did not understand, though it bore many similarities to the tongue of Rohan. Then, finally, it returned to the common speech. "Forgive the intrusion," spoke one of the two voices. "My friend and I were just having a debate over whether you were ready for our offer."  
  
"What offer might that be?" Faramir spoke into the nothingness.  
  
"The offer," spoke a voice which materialized from behind, "of changing you future. And the past."  
  
Faramir turned, seeing a man only slightly taller than him, oddly clad with some dark covering over his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked cautiously.  
  
"Who we are has little to do with the subject at hand," was the only answer. "But we hold the key to that will allow you to correct some of the nasty mistakes of your past. So, what do you say? Would you like a couple of chances?"  
  
Faramir shook his head. "Forgive me," he sighed. "I still do not understand."  
  
"You will be given five chances to change what has happened in your life," was the reply. "Five rights which you can make wrong. When you have made each choice, you will be brought back to the moment of time in which we found you and allowed to either undo your changes- or live the rest of your life with what has occurred due to your decision. You have five minutes each time- just enough to see what has become of your life."  
  
Faramir hardly believed his fortune; surely he had much that was great, but so many things could have been done differently. "Is it only my part I can change?" he asked quietly.  
  
"It is," answered the other. "And choose wisely, or everything could become ruled by the dark lord."  
  
Faramir bit his bottom lip, nodding. Indeed this was a perilous choice- he might make a decision that would enslave all the world in darkness. Yet the possibilities! Besides, he could always undo everything. . .  
  
"Why me?" he asked in wonderment, trying to analyze his option carefully. "I am hardly worthy of such an offer!"  
  
"You underestimate your importance," answered the gentleman before him with a grin. He snapped, and suddenly they were in Osgiliath- the way it had been during the war, pillaged and overtaken by evil. "You saved this reality from being permanent. Your strength is great, and not physically. It is your mind that has given you this choice. You are learned, and you have done well, yet for all your work you have been but poorly rewarded."  
  
"Poorly rewarded! I have a home, a wife that cares for me, children!"  
  
"You were not granted those you have always loved," explained the voice. "Your wife, Eowyn, is too strong to let it all be revealed. Your children hardly see you. And your liege lord does not note all you do, and appreciate you, as he is far away. So little truly remains for you. We see this, as we see.. . .well, I should say we see enough. And in this case, I can chose to open a door for you to change all that."  
  
"I can undo all?" Faramir finally asked. "Even the last choice, if I so choose, and make all as it was at this time?"  
  
"You may."  
  
Faramir smiled. There was a lot he would gladly undo, and full moments that should be changed. "In that case," he replied. "I accept your offer. And I think I know right where to start. . ."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
N.B. here. I don't know of another LotR story like this, though there have been some in other genres. Hopefully not TOO similar (crosses fingers). . .  
  
I will take a few suggestions as to things he might want to change, though I obviously have a few ideas- and of course, I know how it all ends up. ( Then again, so does anyone who's read the books, eh?  
  
Well, please review when you can!  
  
Thanks! 


	2. Chance One

It was amazing, the sensation. Just moments after making his choice mentally, Faramir found the construct around him flutter in and out- and then resolve into the exact surroundings needed. He looked at the world around him, at the city of Osgiliath and the surrounding countryside filled with cheering droves of people, and smiled. Soon it would come, the moment he waited for. . .  
  
The words of the speech didn't matter. Once Faramir noted the flag raised and saw his brother again, cheering for the entire world to hear and proclaiming no more fear would reach this fortress, his heart broke. He knew the truth: without something to change it, that was simply a lie. This city was destined to fall again.  
  
Faramir watched until Boromir began to back away from the roar of the crowd, then rushed towards him. As before, he was met with a caring, brotherly embrace and a hearty laugh. Another familiar conversation followed, Faramir careful to play nothing more than his part.  
  
For now.  
  
"Remember today, little brother," Boromir smiled, patting him on the back. "Today, life is good."  
  
Faramir smiled. "You have no idea," he whispered drinking from his cup. Then he looked over, seeing his father.  
  
"What is it?" Boromir asked, seeing the odd light in his brother's eyes.  
  
"He's here," Faramir answered.  
  
"Father?" Boromir asked. "But that doesn't make sense- you seem almost happy to see him."  
  
"Father it is," Faramir said, draining the cup and setting it down.  
  
Where to begin? Faramir had a job to do, and was wondering what would be the best way for him to accomplish it. As for father, how could he face him, knowing the future? Knowing that he was loved? Could he be the shut down boy he had been then?  
  
"Where is Gondor's finest?" Denethor asked, looking at the older. "Where is my firstborn?"  
  
Faramir watched the exchange, accepting Boromir's help as if he were still the younger- as though he didn't know what was occurring. When the two wandered off together, Faramir's mind began working overtime. . .  
  
Denethor would offer his oldest the chance again, yet Faramir knew that was not how things must go. In his heart, Faramir knew the best thing was for the stronger to stay and aide the world of men while the other went on the quest of the Ring. Faramir was certain of everything in his mind: somehow, he must be more persuasive. He must get this job!  
  
"My place is here," Boromir argued just loud enough for Faramir to hear in his haze. "With my people. . ."  
  
And then all that followed. Faramir held his breath and finally let his moment come. "If there is need to go to Rivendell," he began, "let me go. The dream was mine."  
  
Denethor stalled, taken aback by the argument. Faramir gave himself an inward smile, knowing he had begun the right path. "Besides," the younger continued, "should aught go ill on the way, it is I who is more dispensable to the kingdom."  
  
"And if you succeed," Denethor calmly added, "you will have much to be heralded for. I see your plan- a chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor to prove his worth? I don't think so. I will only trust your brother with this task, for he I know will not betray me in this errand."  
  
And so there it was again. Denethor turned on his heel and retreated into the back of the towers. And Faramir watched after him, looking at the man. "You will realize it later," he whispered, shaking his head.  
  
Boromir looked at his brother quietly. "Is there something amiss?" he asked, seeing the far-away glimpse in his eyes.  
  
"There is," Faramir replied gently, turning with a new idea and purpose. He accompanied his brother downstairs, discussing as they went. "I cannot understand what is going on; the dream was mine, and lent forward. It is my errand to do! If Elrond needs men, I shall be the man who does it!"  
  
Boromir had never seen quite a fire in the eyes of his younger brother such as what he saw then, nor that determination. "What would you see to do?"  
  
Faramir smiled. "How long would it take father to notice which of his sons had gone missing?" he asked.  
  
Boromir stopped, both because he had reached where the horses were billeted and from the insinuation in Faramir's comment. "What do you suggest?"  
  
"My place for yours," he replied. "In the long run, it shall make father happy to have his jewel in command and I. . ." Faramir did not finish, for he knew what fate awaited the son of Denethor at Amon Hen and felt sure it was not likely to be different for another. Still, he was resolved: Boromir had a better chance of living the calm life, deserved more the comforting lifestyle of a Steward in the house of Aragorn.  
  
After all, Faramir was only living the life his brother should have had.  
  
"I shall be fine," Faramir assured at his brother's uncertain look, "but I would like to take care of my own tasks."  
  
Boromir looked over at the younger, seeing the definite want in the other's stance and all. Faramir was, in fact, schooling himself to that which he often used in the court of Aragorn. It was quite imploring, used in order to sway the leaders to his way of thinking. And Boromir put his hand on Faramir's shoulder, tilting his head. "Do you really wish this, little brother?"  
  
Faramir nodded.  
  
"Then it is yours."  
  
Faramir mounted his own steed then, straightening himself to look his part. Boromir lifted the last few supplies up, clasping the hand on the way. "Remember today, little brother," he whispered.  
  
"I always shall," Faramir assured. "Always."  
  
Boromir stepped away. "Take care of yourself."  
  
Faramir held his brother in his gaze, knowing whatever happened this was likely to be the last time he saw him in life. He rode away, looking back. . .  
  
. . . And then it faded into whiteness, and he ended up sitting on the floor in a heap. A hand materialized before him, attached to the man that offered the choice. Faramir accepted, seeing he was back to the projected image, and let his brows furrow. "I thought I got to see the consequence of my action from where I was taken?"  
  
"There's a problem," the man answered. "The future does not include anything you can or would want to see. Frodo learned from you and Aragorn alone, and came to trust men too fully. He was never exposed to the true nature of the ring, as Boromir did, and therefore never left. When you died on the hilltop, it turned both your father and brother mad; Frodo brought the ring into the trap of Minas Tirith, and with the fall of the family of Stewards the world of men failed. Aragorn arrived too late- all collapsed in flame. In your time, orcs had men and hobbit enslaved. Gandalf imprisoned, fighting alone to save all."  
  
Faramir shook his head. "Then taking my brother's place was not the answer to my riddles. It must lie elsewhere."  
  
"You wish for a redo?" was the joking answer.  
  
Faramir nodded with a sigh. "A redo."  
  
"Perhaps," the man warned, "you are attempting to change the wrong thing.'  
  
Faramir shook his head. "The answer lies in Boromir's survival," he told himself. "He was the better, the stronger- he would know what to do, would take my place, leaving me free to pursue a normal life. But how can I save him, without changing that which is necessary?"  
  
"Maybe. . ."  
  
But Faramir interrupted. "I know where- or I should say, when. I want a week before I learned of Boromir's death. . ." 


	3. Number Two

A great thank you to all who have been reading. I only hope I can continue in a satisfactory style.  
  
I still don't own this.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Faramir was walking, the reigns of his horse in hand as he went up the streets of Minas Tirith and farther towards the highest tower. Patting the creature's muzzle, he smiled; a better horse he had never had, not before and not since. A great thing it was, too; holding this once truly wild beast had begun to earn him the reputation of commanding all beasts and men. While Faramir had never truly accepted this bit of praise from the people, it was one he found made him smile.  
  
The stable where his horse usually waited was just a bit further up, and here Faramir stopped with a gentle pat. "I'm glad I got to see you again, too," he whispered, finding the light nuzzle in return more than worthy answer.  
  
"Faramir!" The younger son of the steward turned at the voice, recognizing the keeper of the stables. "Faramir, you're back!"  
  
"Just for a little while," was the swift answer. "I have come here to gain supplies before we head out to check on the rumors of haradrim in the east. Tell me, where is father?"  
  
The eyes that met him were full of warning and danger, just as they had been years before in Faramir's memory of this gracious man. "Oh, you know his moods. He's up in the tower tonight. Best steer clear."  
  
Faramir smiled, giving a nod. "Usually, I should say you are right."  
  
This was one of the evenings when the color shimmered from that tower, and the sight of it made Faramir's heart still. It was the workings of an ancient magic, an evil in the form of a seeing-stone. Faramir could remember the few times he had disturbed his father in those times, when he was using the stone- it had resulted in many a bruise and the understanding that disturbance was not to be accepted.  
  
Now, Faramir had it in his head to try changing it yet again.  
  
"Take care of her," Faramir begged, patting his horse yet again and heading up to where the colors showing his father's use of the Palantir danced.  
  
Just before opening the door and intruding on his father's realm, Faramir stopped and took a deep breath.  
  
{ Be strong, } he reminded himself. { Hear what his heart is saying, not the words he uses. } And with that single reminder, Faramir entered the room.  
  
"Faramir! How dare you. You know entrance is forbidden."  
  
"I am sorry," Faramir assured, seeing how the lights failed as Denethor threw a cloth over the object to hide it from the eyes of his son. "The matter is of utmost import. I have had a messenger come to me. They say that there is an army of orcs is tracking along Rauros and into Rohan. . ."  
  
"Let Theoden worry about that," Denethor hissed, "or take care of it yourself."  
  
"See, there is where I need council, Lord Steward." Denethor's head lifted at the specifically high address in such a private setting, though the usage was as by one who knew the title through full study of it- a voice Boromir alone had only spoken in. It seemed to catch his attention. . .  
  
"Speak," he spit out, still as though commanding a petulant child.  
  
"My group is to go farther into the evil land, to check on the harad from afar which is supposedly entering to join the Dark Lord. If I am to turn my tracks, I must be able to say the command came from you.  
  
"As for the invading orcs- they follow a group from the north. Nine walkers they say are from Rivendell."  
  
A hidden silence. "Boromir?" The old man fell to his knees on the floor, taking Faramir's hands into his own. "Boromir is with them?"  
  
"I cannot prove it now," Faramir replied honestly, "but my dreams forbode it."  
  
"Dreams, dreams." Denethor dropped the embrace, or at least nearest they had ever gotten. "Always dreams, my son."  
  
"Can you not see it to, within the lies of that- that thing?"  
  
Denethor shuddered a nod, then shot a glance at his youngest. "How can you know what I might see, and if they are lies or no?"  
  
"I have learned what it is," Faramir responded truly. "It is one of the seeing stones from far back, father, and a dangerous tool indeed!"  
  
Denethor looked at the thing again, shaking his head and mumbling. "It cannot be- it cannot be. . ."  
  
"But even with the lies, it might be a danger to your son. Father, let me at least send men to help defeat the orcs that travel downstream; at the least it will give us the obedience of Theoden."  
  
And Denethor finally smiled at his youngest. "You have become wise while I did not look, Faramir," he whispered. "My son. . ."  
  
"Do not praise me until I am proven right," Faramir cautioned. "I am not worthy of your trust."  
  
But Denethor actually laughed. "Send out men, Captain Faramir, and be sure you are among those going into Rohan. Let one you trust deal with haradrim; I will be assured that you alone will search out and care for your brother. As for this room- it is dead to me now, and will remain locked until you return."  
  
Faramir bowed, then exited. There was work to do. . .  
  
But as soon as he left, he saw colors dance again and knew his plan had failed at least in part.  
  
Then the flash, and the whiteness, and the construct was on him again. Everything was bright, and those offering him the chance appeared again.  
  
"That was better," the one with the dark glass in front of his eyes explained, "but not quite right."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You'll see."  
  
And in moment, he did. Faramir awoke at a desk, much like the one he had fallen asleep at in what now seemed nights before. Only he found the place dustier- as if deserted. . .  
  
Concerned, he looked at the volume left on his desk- his brother's old favorite. Then he stood and went to the door, exiting. Now, however, he did not see the bright home which Eowyn had created for them on these grounds; it was covered in cobwebs and dust, as though uncared for.  
  
{ What have I done? }  
  
And then his memory caught up with the time- almost a download. With a shudder, he ran to the tallest tower to look just that he might be sure.  
  
A land of black, and above it all reigned the great red eye. Below he saw a ransacked city of servants, each looking to him with pleas in their eyes. {Name me, my lord; let it end today, master.}  
  
A few faces Faramir recognized as the commoners of Minas Tirith, others as those who now joined him across the river in his realm. This was the servitude of men, where they awaited their fate separated from the other races. Only those elves which had crossed into the west were free from the rule of the dark tower.  
  
And Faramir knew more than that. His father had pretended, yet in this time was certainly no more than the servant of Sauron. Or, to say, had become- Faramir distinctly remembered returning with Boromir safe, and being charged as a traitor by the man he called father.  
  
Boromir had stood up for him, killing father against his will or aims. Faramir had gone along the same road once remembered, Boromir dying during the last stand against Mordor- at Aragorn's side. But it had come too late, for Denethor had seen the fate of the Ring, and betrayed it to the Dark Lord.  
  
Faramir was the leader of a nation in servitude after the death of the king, calling for the final retreat in a battle against evil. Eowyn had died during that fight, eyes turned toward him- a couple separated before they could find each other beyond a feeling.  
  
All this Faramir could see in his mind in an instant, just looking over the burned fields. He could clearly remember being forced, through torment, to take on this position rather than rebel.  
  
The rebellion led by the wizard Mithrandir, with the council of the last elf in Middle Earth and his dwarven best friend. Upon those three, Faramir knew all his hopes were.  
  
One day, there would be a way for him to break free from these chains. And man would again be free.  
  
For Faramir had in his keep that which could destroy even Sauron. . .  
  
What it was seemed clouded by uncertainty and an unwilling soul. Faramir sighed- no, he had not the courage to do what was needed. But what was it?  
  
Before the vision clarified, Faramir heard the question in his head: "Do we leave this world as it is, void of hope?"  
  
"No," Faramir called out into the darkness. And at the top of his lungs, he called out the word that would set the world to rights: "REDO!"  
  
And then the white of the construct was there again. "I can't believe it- I cannot save Boromir without getting in the way."  
  
"No," responded a woman's voice. "You can't." She was the only one there, tall with short black hair. Faramir bowed momentarily to the lady and listened as she explained, "It's time we told you the real reason you have this chance. Every man has the opportunity to be the best he is, the most wanted version of himself. You had the chance many times and threw it away for one simple reason: you were unsure. Seeing what you have become, and what you can become, made us wish to give you a possibility. But you have to understand: it is meant to help you do what you can. It is something YOU can do to help everyone, not how you can get out of the hard work."  
  
Faramir sighed. "What you're saying is that I don't see myself as great because I never reached my full awareness and potential?"  
  
A chuckle. "You sound like some form of psychiatrist."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"Counselor of the mind."  
  
Faramir smiled. "You'd be surprised what I have to do sometimes to maintain control.'  
  
A pause. "I might. Anyway, you might want to reconsider what you're trying to change."  
  
Faramir sat on the ground, thinking. "I can't save Boromir. Maybe I can be of help to someone else, though. OH! I think I understand now. Take me back. . ." 


	4. Giving Up

Faramir really had a choice to change this time, and it wouldn't take long to make it either. The battle was almost over, the city beset. Faramir had already called the retreat and directed the hobbits Frodo and Sam to the sewers under the city.  
  
"Only one thing," Faramir added to the litany he had started long before the insertion this time. "This Gollum creature- he is an unsavory guide. Let my men take him, and I will lead you along the path he spoke of and past the dark thing which is there. The tales say it is a monster of great strength, like to a spider in many ways. But with an able companion, it might be possible to complete this quest. I can do that for you, if you would have me."  
  
Frodo looked at Gollum sadly and opened his mouth in the start of a protest, but then Sam met his master's eyes.  
  
"As you wish it," Frodo sighed wearily.  
  
And Sam smiled.  
  
"You there," Faramir called, pointing to one of he nearer men, "take this creature into the city. Tell my father- I will repay a debt Boromir has gained for us. All will be well."  
  
And then the three companions, two hobbit and one man, sent down into the city. Faramir plotted the course for them, leaving it imprinted on his mind. . .  
  
And all exploded into a white light.  
  
"Closer still. But you still killed yourself- this time, it was in an attempt to remain unpolluted by the ring's calling to you."  
  
Faramir winced. "Not what I had in mind."  
  
"But still the fate you created for yourself. Is that really the best you can do, Faramir?"  
  
"Without fully changing what might happen," Faramir sighed. "I shall have to give up what I have, and simply ask to relive a memory."  
  
And the moment played as it had before- Eowyn in his mother's robes, walking along with him. The recital of vows was as a sweet dance, but this time Faramir dared to close it with a true kiss before leaving her. And instead of simply walking away delighted, she now turned and smiled, running back to return the gesture before returning.  
  
"Promise you'll never be too busy for me," she asked.  
  
{ And even though I redo this memory, } Faramir smiled, { this vow I will now keep in my mind from that moment on. And I won't even know why. }  
  
"I promise," he said with a smile.  
  
And when he was swept back, the others looked at him. "Clever, giving yourself a mental suggestion like that. Still not quite right, but you're even closer still."  
  
"I give up," Faramir sighed. "I don't see how a man such as I can change the fates without making it worse for all Middle Earth."  
  
"Perhaps helping all Middle Earth will not prove to you what you have within you," the wise one he first talked to suggested.  
  
"All I can do is change the fate of the ring," Faramir sighed, "and that I would not tamper with for all the joys in my life!" And then Faramir knew in his heart what he must replay. With his wiser self, he had certainly got a time to change and bring his knowledge to.  
  
"I wish to return to when I met the first two hobbits," he said suddenly. "There is one thing- one thing alone- which I CAN change for the better." 


	5. A Long Awaited Decision

Faramir's final decision is here! Much of the following dialogue is straight from the book version of "The Two Towers"- - book four, chapters four and five. Enjoy!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Waiting undercover, Faramir watched as his people once again brought down the Oliphant and defeated the haradrim on their way to the dark tower- at least, at this time. So much more lie ahead, but the feeling of this swift victory was quite good.  
  
"Captain- two more on the ridge. There's sign of smoke starting."  
  
Faramir smiled. "Send a scout, but be quiet about it." That should at least give Sam and Frodo time enough to finish their dinner. Just one kindness Faramir found himself prepared to offer the two in trouble as they traveled into Mordor.  
  
The two came back. "Two small ones, and some gangly creature with them. Has an ill favored look."  
  
Faramir smiled. "Well, best be sneaking up on them, then."  
  
And so he took the original two, plus a trustworthy friend, and went in search. They found them, closing their packs after a much needed rest. "Now," he whispered, and all four simultaneously stepped out of the brush. The two original struck up a conversation with each other which seemed to strike a little panic into the hobbits, so Faramir shook his head and regained the lead on this part. "We have not found what we sought," he commented. "But what have we found. Not orcs."  
  
"No," his friend answered, catching on. "Not orcs."  
  
"Elves?" suggested one of the original trackers.  
  
"NOT elves," Faramir replied with a laugh. "Elves do not walk in Ithilien these days, and they are wondrous fair to look upon. Or so 'tis said."  
  
"Meaning WE're not?" Sam pouted angrily, brandishing a cook pot. Faramir smiled at his courage, seeing it as it was now- genuine and humor-filled at once. He continued on his rant, proclaiming he and Frodo simple travelers. The description brought a snort from his lips, knowing what he did.  
  
"I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor, but there are no travelers in this land. Only servants of the Dark Tower or the White."  
  
"But we are neither," Frodo assured.  
  
They didn't know, Faramir reminded himself. They were allies of the white tower indeed, but they would not have known to claim that title. So he went on, frightening a little but making the encounter smooth as possible. It must have been done well, for those in charge had not yet stopped this turn.  
  
And Faramir found it comforting to talk of Boromir to these two hobbits, short as that part was. He remained on point, forcing no information from the travelers into the realm of the dark lord.  
  
And when he took them into his care, for once hearing from his men what he never had- they believed him charmed, and fated, for all they went through together. In taking these hobbits and lending them to another's care, he learned his esteem in the eyes of those he commanded- sure he knew they trusted, but now it was a more full vision. And, he knew, Sam and Frodo's comfort and faith in him grew as well.  
  
Another encounter with the Southrons, and Faramir still found himself reliving this part of his life. And it was grand, for he thought always of how to continue doing good for these two Halflings.  
  
A longer meeting, which Faramir found he had not looked for, turned out well for him and the hobbits alike. He remained to the point, lingering on nothing longer than they would have found comfortable- saying it was in the concern of time he brushed over all. Even better, he was able to give to them some hope that their companions lived- as he knew they surely did.  
  
And new information was imparted to Faramir concerning his brother. Boromir had strayed into Lorien, and heard Galadriel in mind as well as ear. And that when he had already come under sway of the Ring, when it would have burdened him!  
  
"Oh Boromir, what did she say to you, the Lady that dies not? What did she say? What woke in your heart then? Why went you ever into Laurelindorenan, and came not by your own road, upon the horses of Rohan riding home in the morning?" Yet even then he was gentle, holding in his true fears for his brother- that he had been overpowered because he lost hope. And he tried even more to assure Frodo of the survival of the others without letting on all that he knew.  
  
In the end, he chose to invite them to dinner and make all well. A day should not meddle much, he thought.  
  
And he was right.  
  
Yet as Frodo left, he found need to call him back and let him know slightly more, letting on much of what he knew now without saying he knew of the quest and the Ring, though he was careful to fit in a full assurance. "Fear no more!" Faramir sighed as he finished this latest discussion. "I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not if Minas Tirith were. . ." here he checked himself, holding back tears by cutting out the image of fire and despair. ". . .falling into ruin, and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and glory." And he thought of the future he had seen, where indeed he realized that is what he had in his heart. Then he shook his head and smiled at the hobbit. "No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo."  
  
THAT, Faramir suddenly realized, was the difference between himself and his brother- which he had been thinking on all his life, and had voiced only moments before to these two travelers. Boromir had always wanted the throne, the ability to control- though benevolent, he wanted the power. Faramir had never wished for that, always looking to another yet willing to stand beside- to offer guidance, and a willing ear.  
  
A willing ear, he remembered, Aragorn heard and Eowyn told dark secrets to. A listening soul that his children spoke to when they had difficulty, though not often in times of good will. Faramir had much in his mind that suddenly clicked- a revelation that ought to have come years earlier-  
  
But in that moment, he realized that it had. It was an imprint, like all the others.  
  
"Remember this day," Faramir told himself with a smile. "This day, you show your quality."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
// We are truth-speakers, we men of Gondor. We boast seldom, and then perform or die in the attempt. Not if I found it on the highway would I take it, I said. Even if I were a man as to desire this thing, and even though I knew not clearly what this thing was when I spoke, still I should take these words as a vow and be held by them. But I am not such a man. Or I am wise enough to know that there are some perils from which a man must flee. Sit at peace! And be comforted. . . if you have stumbled, think that it was fated to be so. . . it may even help the master that you love. It shall turn to his good, if it is in my power."  
  
{{ Stange as it seems, it was safe to confide this in me. }}  
  
----- ------- -------- ---------  
  
No stage in between the dreaming and the waking. Faramir looked at the book before him as the last thought drifted from his head, and saw light coming from the windows. A blanket had been tossed on his shoulders during the night, which Faramir immediately recognized as being made by a lady under Eowyn's orders. It was a bright day, and Faramir appreciated it for being as it was.  
  
"You succeeded. Good luck in this life."  
  
Memories of important times filled Faramir's memory, many simple variations on what he already knew. More tenderness filled the instants with his wife and children, and more certain terms his time with the leaders of the land. Aragorn was more than a king now, but also a great friend and teacher- though also, he realized, a pupil. Great times indeed. No more did the new steward feel so tightly the lack of his brother, for he was certain in his abilities and needed none to tell him how well he had done. Boromir was to be missed, but no longer a large lack in Faramir's life.  
  
Faramir heard footsteps and saw his oldest child come down, running to the doorframe and simply stopping. "Father? It is nearly time for breakfast."  
  
Faramir smiled, shutting the book and walking forward to put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Yes," he agreed, "it is."  
  
The End. 


End file.
